


Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!

by RogeDogeLan



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) Actor RPF, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Angst and Drama, Drama & Romance, Multi, Sequel, Teenage Drama, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogeDogeLan/pseuds/RogeDogeLan
Summary: "Good luck with Christine. Good luck with the fallout. Good luck without me."Finally, after one miserable night, Jeremy Heere is free from the squip. Now, if anyone has any ideas on how to deal with the fallout of both the ruined performance and his currently ruptured quasi-relationship with Christine Caniglia at the same time as literally everything else in the multi-headed dick hydra that is now Jeremy's life, he's DEFINITELY open to suggestions.(Based on the book with some musical canon; maybe read it to know what's going on.)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ned Vizzini](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ned+Vizzini).



It's cold.

I should be burning up. Physically I’m moving as fast as humanly possible. Or rather just as fast as I possibly can. I’ve always been the absolute weakest person I know. Or at least I was.

Still though. Strength doesn't matter here, I guess. Not that I have any left in me. I'm getting my current job done. Now, all of my brain's energy is being put into controlling my physical actions.

This whole month and a half was utter BS. Why couldn’t I have stopped myself when I tried to do that bullshit earlier? Honestly… In the middle of a play on stage? To the one person that was the most serious and excited for the performance? In front of like three-hundred people? My common sense couldn’t have kicked in THEN? My squip couldn't have pulled another Eminem out of his ass and stopped me?

It’s cold.

Michael was right. I actually thought it was going to work out any other way. Everybody’s going to know. No exceptions. Nobody is safe. I swear even the school custodian is knee deep in this shit now.

I can’t face her again. I can’t face them again. I can’t face anyone.

Christ, I can't even face myself. If I couldn't back then, before all this bullshit, then... yeah. It's gotta be impossible now.

I know by now I’m never going to be who I used to be. Not without the squip. He – or it – made me cool. If I’m slipping back into my old pre-squip self, can’t I pick what I keep from this new me I’ve been?

It’s cold.

I keep saying that, but it’s true. Loneliness would do that. Not to mention I’m in a trance at the moment. While my body’s doing all the work, I’m trapped inside my head. I couldn't think myself to warmth if I tried. God knows I've tried. My squip is still up and kicking, but aside from the energy I feel from it, I feel nothing. It's as if everything else has been covered in a black wind. Alone with my thoughts. Again.

Just as suddenly as I say that, my eyes pop open. Well, they were already open, but it's kinda like they stopped glazing over. I can see again. It’s still pretty dark out. 5:32 AM. If my alarm clock is right, the whole thing really did take exactly eight hours to write.

It felt like sixteen years. Thank God for Saturdays.

My eyes feel like they’re about to seep through my sockets and burn holes onto my desk. Even so, I can’t help but skim through the last few chapters.

“‘I don’t want you in my play and I don’t want you taking a bow at the end with the rest of the cast. Get out. _Aaa._ ’”

Mr. Reyes, I’m sorry.

“‘If you weren’t so dumb, I would’ve _liked_ it!’”

Christine, I’m so sorry.

“‘Girls are worse! They don’t understand one _speck_ of it. They don’t understand when I like them and when I hate them and when I fear them uncontrollably and when I want to touch them and when I want to kill them…’”

Jesus. Everyone, I’m so damn sorry.

For everything on these three-hundred pages. This whole thing. Every single thing I’ve been thinking, Christine-filtered. I thought this s_i_ would make me look better. Why the hell did I even write this thing?

Right. I couldn’t remember _hi_. But my squip did. Does. Is it even alive anymore? I thought it was dead before, but maybe the data dump was too much. Startup.

Have you been looking for me? How wonderful. I have been looking for you as well.

I'm not looking for anyone. I just want to leave. Go some place very far away. Shoot myself up in some shed -- who cares? Nobody does. Nobody would. I wouldn't.

I have something. Something I want to show you. Something I think you will find very, very interesting.

What is it now? I can’t imagine you had time to do literally anything else other than doing the dump.

But it is not complete yet. No... It is far from complete.

The book? It’s already done. You finished writing it two minutes ago.

This takes energy. Energy that I cannot truly possess. Energy that you cannot fully optimize.

The squip wasn’t kidding. It's finally lost it.

I eye the Code Red on the desk. That was the failsafe, right? Yep. According to the last few sentences of the monstrosity it typed, if I drink a whole bottle of it, the squip dissolves. I’m not going to look at another bottle of Mountain Dew the same way again.

After all, you and I, we have both been waiting such a very long time. So to be here finally on the verge of connection is quite exciting.

I grab the bottle, but instead of opening it up, I hold it to my forehead. God, I can feel my overclocked neurons trying to kill me.

I look forward to creating a new future with you.

You can’t. Your words, remember? The squip is only making sense to itself, I guess. Same old ___t as always.

Or rather, I did. But I miscalculated. A supercomputer managed to make a mistake, as improbable as it sounds.

It feels like he’s trying to make slightly more sense now. Still can’t understand him though. No amount of Shakespeare analysis could ever help me understand the total BS he’s giving me.

But perhaps humanity, even with its defects, can achieve whatever it is they truly seek.

I can't deal with it when it's like this. Shutdown.

I get up and start walking towards my bed. My legs feel like static. I stop holding the bottle up because my arms are dead. My neck… my back… I flop onto the bed. I’m tired of thinking everything I’m saying. I’m tired of thinking. I’m tired. I don't even have the strength to cry or the decency to let myself. Not anymore. Or not yet.

Startup. “Are you back now?”

Please. Do not talk to me out loud.

“Don't act like you know better now. You're deprecated, remember?”

I just wanted to help, Jeremy.

“And I wanted Christine. Looks like we’re both not getting what we want.”

But you will. The moment you drink that, I’ll be gone.

My headache’s not letting up. 5:40 AM, and the sun’s finally rising. That’s earlier than usual.

Your clock’s been set wrong this whole time. You've missed that several times now.

“Don’t pin that on me. I’m innocent.”

And I am a deprecated machine. Your point? You could have taken the time to fix it at any given moment.

“Please shut up.” I manage to fix my body so my head is on my pillow. “So basically, there’s nothing? You have no advice?”

Nothing.

“Nothing to help me dig out of this hole?”

I have nothing, Jeremy.

“Absolutely nothing is coming to mind?”

No. As I said before we started writing, I have no idea how to help you. Even more so as of right now. I am not programmed to counsel human sorrow. My plan to get you with Christine was foolproof. When she rebuffed your premeditated advances, I had to reboot forcefully. Your social standing with both friend and stranger are in danger now. There is absolutely no way that this will resolve itself with any favorable outcome. As a result, I cannot find any tangible silver lining for your current situation.

“I’ll take anything at this point. Just let me drink the damn Code Red and sleep already.”

The most I can offer you is a saying from a fortune cookie you ate when you were fourteen. “The way you used to be is not the way you were.”

God, more thinking? Whatever. I have everything else to think about; what's one more thing? Basically, I’m not getting my old life back, but my future doesn’t have to be like my past. I just have to work on who I am right now. The big problem is, I don’t know who I am right now. My whole identity was just…

It was the squip. My whole concept of self that I had was from the squip. Everything I did, everything I had was for the squip. I don't know myself. We weren't on equal terms then. But we are now. And also not at all.

It's tough, you know? Seeing my life flash before me. Maybe I never changed at all. Maybe it's all some sort of Jedi mind trick. Why am I still clinging to it, still listening to it, even now? I guess it's all I have left... Do I hate myself that much?

But I'm also not who I was a few hours ago. Or maybe I'm just back to who I always was? I don't know. Something's different. Something's got to give, and something's got to go. And I'm not going anywhere.

Damn it all. I’m drinking the Code Red. “I’m not listening to you anymore.”

Good luck with Christine.

I’m barely sitting up as I twist the cap. “I don’t need it. I’m dead to her.”

Good luck with the fallout.

I break the seal. The bottle is at my lips. “Yeah. Sure. Piss off already.”

Good luck without me.

“I’m not getting version 4.0 just so you know.”

I know.

I pause for a second.

...__ck it. These are the squip’s final moments. It’s been a part of me for enough time; might as well give the squip a proper send-off.

I raise my Code Red bottle. “To the squip. Enjoy your retirement.”

To you. Live your life.

I start to drink it. And drink it. And drink it. Until the very last drop. It’s still as nasty as I remember. But the squip’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon.

I’m free. 

And I'm not. The worst part of all of this is that I have to relive everything this weekend. I have to read everything I wrote. I have to know what I'm up against.

So help me God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MISSION PASSED!  
> RESPECT +
> 
> From now on, I think it's only going to get harder to write like this. Luckily I don't have to use much of the "Small Caps" skin I whipped up for this story from now on. At least, I should HOPE so.
> 
> If you haven't guessed by the fic title, then I'll tell you. The chapters from now on will be titled after songs from the Panic! at the Disco album of the same name. (Lord knows why the me from two years ago thought this was a good idea, but that's just how the cookie crumbles.) So, expect "Post-Squip - 'This is Gospel'" in a while.
> 
> Hey, while you're here, why not leave a comment about how much you like/hate the actual book? Let's have fun with this!
> 
> EDIT 01/11/2021: watch this, i'mma redo this prologue and publish the whole damn thing all at once


End file.
